


Sufficient

by alea_archivist (the_aleator)



Series: A Mere Appendix [13]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Epic Friendship, Fisticuffs, Fluff and Crack, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aleator/pseuds/alea_archivist
Summary: The aftermath of a beautiful brawl: conversation, pipe-smoking and for once, the joke is on Holmes.
Relationships: Lestrade & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: A Mere Appendix [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636375
Kudos: 6
Collections: Watson's Woes JWP Entries: 2013





	Sufficient

Watson leaned back with a satisfied air against his tree trunk, or as satisfied an air a man may don after he has succeeded in the latest round of fisticuffs _cum_ wrestling _cum_ battle. He accepted the lit twig from Holmes with the casual nonchalance of a soldier, and passed it to Lestrade on his right, as the growing heat of a bruise settled over his cheek and lower jaw.

The slight sound of groaning reached his ears, and he poked with his toe boat without looking until the groaning stopped. Pipe stem held between his teeth, Lestrade gave a small chuckle, and Watson simply fished inside his coat for his bottle.

His manners demanded he offer up his private stash to the little man on his right (who fortunately didn’t drink, thank heavens) and to Holmes on his left, who took a small guzzle with the discerning palate of a well brought up gentleman. Watson, on the other hand, feeling victorious after his scrum, took a long swallow with a gulp of contentment.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I must say this will be one for the papers,” Lestrade commented, sitting against his tree, his little rosewood pipe puffing away from between his lips, looking all the world like some sort of common ruffian, with his collar torn away and the blood on his shirtfront. The thin lips were smiling as he looked across the small fire to the thin man sitting opposite.

“Indeed, Lestrade, though I dare say that it has a line of plot too sensational for even one of Watson’s stories,” Holmes agreed, with the beginnings of a vivid bruise around his eyes, though he too smoked a dark pipe with all the rested energy of a job well done.

“I should take offense at that,” Watson retorted drily, sucking a pull of tobacco on his pipe, “but I fear it to be altogether too true. How else does one explain such a brawl as we have just had?” He said, with a meaningful look at the small mound of ruffians, bound and lying on the ground. Holmes gave a distasteful curl of his lip, as he brushed some of the dirt off his trouser legs.

“In such a place?” Lestrade chimed in, looking about at the otherwise deserted forest, silent even for the sound of animals or the movement of the bracken. “Fortunately, we had Hopkins along, or otherwise I should have had to trot the thirteen miles back to civilization.”

“Or what passes for civilization in these parts. That town looked as though they hadn’t even been introduced to plumbing yet, or the marvels of gas.” Watson blew a smoke ring as he felt about his pockets for a packet of humbugs, which had been unfortunately reduced to only the wax envelope during the long hours of waiting, and their previous train ride from London.

“Perhaps that explains,” Holmes said airily, but with a hint of smirk riding about his jaw, “the low intellect level of these thuggees. One would at least expect a small challenge for one of my reputation, but alas! Clues clear as day, motivations as visible as an elephant in the streets of London. Even the Yard might have been sufficient to the case, without my involvement entirely.”

“I did say it shouldn’t be a trouble if you didn’t want to come along,” Lestrade reproved mildly, with those dark eyes intently looking at Holmes, and he hooked his unoccupied hand into his waistcoat. “But you insisted, Mr. Holmes.”

“So I did,” Holmes said with a sniff, “but the utter lack of criminal intelligence is positively dull.”

“I suppose we should be grateful that such a small case came along at all,” Watson confided. “It has been a rather slow month.”

“Dog owners missing dogs. Simpering ladies and their silly letters.” Holmes all but groaned, putting one long hand to his temple. “One gentleman even had the audacity to consult me about his mother, who he insisted was telling him she had been murdered. From beyond the grave, no less.”

“Well,” Lestrade wanted to know. “What’s wrong with that? I’ve chased down more dogs in my career than I should probably care to count. And as to the simpering ladies…”

“Lestrade!” Watson hissed urgently. “Does Holmes look like a medium? Or a dog-catcher? I have been living with a madman for the past month, and I do not care to any longer.” The only sound from Holmes was the suddenly rapid pulling at his pipe, and the smoke stack that resulted drifted off through the trees for some minutes.

“Doctor,” Lestrade said gently, the restrained laughter on his face softening out the tired lines, as he eased an ache out of his back with a long sigh. “I hesitate to inform you of this now, but you have _always_ been living with a madman.”

Watson all but rolled his eyes, but restrained himself with the saintly patience he was well known for among certain circles. Letting his tobacco smoke roll off his lips, he let the Inspector’s retort drift away into silence, as the night closed in all around the trio.

Each man listened for the sound of Hopkins and the local police, and the ring of three pipes was to be seen through the trees for some distance in the darkness.

And if there was only the three, well, three had been sufficient, and should be sufficient always.

**Author's Note:**

> JWP #24 - self portrait challenge. Warning - this is crack (!) based around pipe-smoking and the satisfied look on the portrait's face as he leans back.


End file.
